


Tile

by one_windiga



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M, Locker Room, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-01
Updated: 2010-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:10:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_windiga/pseuds/one_windiga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't like she did it on purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faded_facade](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=faded_facade).



It wasn't like she did it on purpose.

The Cheerios' private locker room was always a safe haven. Or, at least, as safe as a safe haven could be when it was filled with girls who would backstab and cheat as quickly as look at you. But they saved those talents for the unfortunates who weren't good enough to be associated with the Cheerios. Usually. But it was the sort of place where they could relax, giggle, talk about the football team's asses, maybe mock some geeks while they were at it, change, primp, and polish before they went back out into the - sadly - less than perfect world of high school. Sordid affairs were strictly for outside of practice time, it was only the juicy tales that were let in.

Santana knew it wasn't that Brittany wanted to break the rules. It was just that she usually didn't understand them in the first place. So when the rest of them had gone home, Santana wasn't surprised when Brittany brought the second-string quarterback into the locker room, his hand grazing the short pleats of her skirt. They didn't see Santana from where she hovered at the sinks, just beyond the bend of the wall. But she had a clear view from around the corner of the old cinderblocks, and even when she leaned back, the row of mirrors was filled with the swish of Brittany's hair and two awkwardly eager hands with wide knuckles and a dusting of freckles pulling at her uniform.

She'd barely taken in the scene before it was already too late to walk out. The boy - Paul, maybe, or was it Peter? - had worked his heavy hands in under Brittany's shirt and had found his way to her bra. She smiled and leaned up to kiss him, making his lips were sticky with her lipgloss wherever she gave her attention. Santana took an involuntary step back towards the sink, and when she did, her hip brushed the compact she'd set on the sink's edge, sending it clattering to the floor.

Paul - it was definitely Paul - jerked back immediately, looking for the source of the sound.

"What was that?"

Brittany blinked huge eyes up at him. "It was probably just the dust bunnies. They must have found the carrots I left them."

Paul stared down at her for a minute in bewilderment before deciding that the whole affair would do better with Brittany's mouth occupied with something other than talking. He kissed her hard enough that Santana heard their teeth click together once, twice. He only pulled back for a moment so that he could tug the tight Cheerios shirt off of her. One of his hands slid around to her back to unclip her bra, but he fumbled at it with the clumsy ineptitude of a teenage boy. Brittany reached and did it herself, letting it tumble off to the tiles.

Santana had seen Brittany before when they changed. They all had; there was only so far you could get in high school sports without catching some glimpses of skin. But this was different. This was very different. Paul clutched at her breast, rough calluses rubbing and squeezing. Santana couldn't help but hate him suddenly for not being more gentle with her, but Brittany didn't seem to mind, judging by the hiss of air between her teeth, somewhere between pain and pleasure.

Santana bit her lip at the sound, swallowing hard. This was weird. This was beyond weird and way into the territory of freaky and creepster. She should be marching right out of here, but it was strangely hard to look away, and - oh, God, he had Brittany pressed against the wall. She gripped hard onto the edge of the sink; it was cold against her palms, which were feeling a little warmer than usual.

He kissed Brittany's neck, just below the crux of her jaw, and she let out a giggle that Santana knew well. Cherished. Sink abandoned, she felt one hand running across her chest without really meaning to. Brittany's fingers, nailpolish half-chewed off, worked at his belt buckle, and when she'd gotten it free, he shoved his jeans down his hips to dangle heavily around his knees. She made a pleased sound, snaking her hands along his thighs and up his chest.

Then it was his turn to undress her, but when Santana expected him to unzip her skirt, he didn't bother. Instead, he slid his fingers between her thighs, curled them in under the seams of her polka-dot panties, and tugged them down, letting her step out of them.

Suddenly, Santana's palms weren't the only part of her that was hot. The hand that had been brushing across her shirt firmly pressed up against her breast, kneading it and drawing it into sharp attention. She stared a moment at the panties lying discarded on the floor, mouth dry, then shifted her gaze back up to Brittany and Paul. Somehow, it was far more tempting that Paul didn't take her skirt off. Santana could see, whenever Brittany shifted, slits of pale skin and darker hair between the slats of red and white fabric. It was tantalizing.

Paul seemed to think so, too. There was the crackle of plastic and the distinct smell of banana condoms, then another one of Brittany's giggles. He put a hand on either side of her hips, gave a grunt, and lifted her bodily up off of the floor, pressing her against the wall. And although Brittany honestly thought an Adam's apple was fruit stuck in every boy's throat, she was smart enough to figure out what Paul was up to. She wrapped her long legs around his waist, anchoring herself, while her hands coasted along the tile of the wall. She slid down onto him with a moan that he echoed, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

Santana bit back a gasp, pulse racing. And though her hand was trembling slightly when she pushed aside the hem of her skirt, it wasn't from fear but from want. She moved past the lace of her underwear, until she felt a shiver from where her hand met damp. She slid in one finger, then two, marveling at her own audacity, but unable and unwilling to stop. As the noises from around the corner grew and sped, she stroked, rocking into her fingertips, leaning back against the sinks when her knees threatened to give out. When they cried out, she swallowed down moans and _pressed_ , never once closing her eyes as the heat and chills raced up her spine. Finally, the shudders dropped off, and she withdrew her hand, wet, growing colder by the minute in the chill of the locker room.

Paul set Brittany down, slowly regaining his breath. He leaned to kiss her, only to find that her mouth was no longer there. She was already bending down and retrieving her panties, tugging them up. He watched, startled, as she did the same with her shirt, dragging it down over her ponytail, which was miraculously still perfect.

"Thanks!" she said brightly, then grabbed her purse and skipped out of the locker room, leaving Paul and Santana staring after.  



End file.
